


The Longest Distance Between Two Places

by thalialunacy



Series: The Man Can Wear a Watch [2]
Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: M/M, PWP, Polyamory, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-17
Updated: 2012-07-17
Packaged: 2017-11-10 04:48:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/462352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thalialunacy/pseuds/thalialunacy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karl loses a watch. Except it’s not really lost, is it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Longest Distance Between Two Places

**Author's Note:**

> **Genre** : established (polyamorous) relationship ficlet of silliness and sex. **Disclaimer** : I do not know these people, nor do I claim to, so please, _please_ don’t sue me. **Notes** : The title is from a Tennessee Williams quote: 'Time is the longest distance between two places.' Spawned by [this snippet](http://www.details.com/blogs/daily-details/2012/07/whats-on-your-wrist-dredd-star-karl-urban.html), and the ensuing conversation on Twitter between sangueuk, therumjournals, and norfolkdumpling. But I kinda imply herein that Karl was telling bogey pies to the interviewer, lol. Sorry, Karl. Don’t be hatin, we just like the fuckin. And we _love_ you.

“Five minutes, big man!” Nat calls from the hallway.

“I know, I know,” Karl grumbles from where he’s bent over his suitcase in their bedroom.

Except that he wouldn’t know, because his watch has somehow disappeared, and it’s no small thing—the watch, or the idea that it’s gone. He liked that watch, alright. Lots of good memories.

He sits back, and tries to remember the last time he’d had the thing. It was a hotel room in Montreal, and he’d been packing, and then he’d gotten a call from the front desk that he’d had a visitor, and then the memory kind of dissolves into a pool of sex and laughter, and leaving the packing off until he had mere minutes to get to his cab--

He slams the suitcase shut, a smile spreading across his face. “Christopher Whitelaw Pine, you dirty thief!”

He hears Natalie’s laugh, and she pokes her head in. “Don’t worry, I’ve got my phone on. We can get you another one tomorrow after the zoo.”

Karl takes the two strides over and kisses her on the head. “I know. And it’s not like I’ll never get it back; he’s probably not sold it.”

She smirks. “Oh, no, I’m guessing it’s part of a shrine. Along with a tiny lock of your hair and that ring you wore for Trek and swear you lost.”

He laughs. “Tart.” He gets an arm around her waist, kisses her on the mouth this time. “Shall we get on with it?”

\---

Chris pushes the door shut behind them gently, helps Karl with his bag automatically, asks Karl if he’d like anything to drink politely. Karl can feel the heat thrumming under his skin, but the heat outside of his skin is pretty desperate, too (Los Angeles in summer really is a special hell) and he’d be alright with a drink, first. A drink or a shower, but he’s not picky. “Sure, thanks.”

Chris brings him a Corona without asking, and Karl has to laugh because he probably shouldn’t be drinking _and_ jetlagged, but sod it, it tastes fantastic—and the way Chris’s eyes don’t stray from Karl’s throat as he takes another swig is very, very gratifying.

He lowers the bottle, and is about to say something, make some small talk, but Chris has stepped towards him, eyes moved now to Karl’s wrist. “That’s… new.”

Karl quirks an eyebrow. “Yeah.”

Chris clears his throat. “It’s nice.”

“Just nice?” There’s a tease in his voice, and a rumble, and he wants all the things all at once.

Chris finally looks up, and when his eyes meet Karl’s, they’ve definitely darkened. “Okay, you asshole, it’s sexy as shit, and until I saw it I was okay with taking it easy tonight, because I know you’re all time-fucked and have an early call tomorrow and—”

Karl puts a hand over his mouth. “I’ve been waiting three months to fuck you with this watch on.”

Chris snaps to. “Well then put down that fucking beer and let’s do a scene change.”

Karl has other intentions, though; beds are nice but he’s pretty sure if he gets in one he’ll just pass out, and that’s no bueno. “I’ll put down the beer,” he says as he gathers up close to Chris, “but you are going nowhere.”

Chris’s eyes widen, and he grins. “I am _so_ down with that.”

When they kiss it’s a shock to Karl, because he’s been too busy with work to kiss anybody but Nat, and this feels so very different. And absolutely _brilliant_ , he thinks as he grips Chris closer, licks into his mouth, feels his heat beating through the thin layers of clothes they have on.

Which is decidedly too many, Karl decides as his hands attempt to find skin and are stymied. He pushes at Chris’s white t-shirt. “Off.”

“I can get behind that,” Chris concurs, and for a minute it’s a mess of kisses and arms and buckles, until they’re both flying free, pants (of both sorts) around their knees, Karl’s shirt the rest of the way unbuttoned and Chris’s shirt somewhere on the floor.

Chris has gotten distracted, though; he’s got one arm around Karl’s hips, holding them flush, and one holding up the wrist with the watch on it. He licks his lips, licks Karl’s wrist just underneath the watch. Their dicks slide together deliciously and Karl has to breathe in suddenly.

“Forgot how to change the time, my ass,” Chris mutters against his skin.

“Did you just say ‘my ass?’”

“Yes.”

“You’re fired.”

“What? I happen to know for a fact you have absolutely zero problems with my ass.”

“Oh, I have zero problems with your ass.”

“Well, then?”

“Just some problems with your—“ But then he’s summarily distracted, because Chris has dropped to his knees and gone to work on Karl’s cock. “Uunngh, words…”

Chris grins around his mouthful, gives it a couple good sucks that have Karl’s toes curling embarrassingly, and then slides off with a pop. “You love my words. They’re what got us together in the first place.”

“And you will never let me forget it.” He wraps a hand around the back of Chris’s neck and makes his wishes obvious. When Chris’s mouth stays on his cock, he lets himself enjoy it for a few seconds, then insists. “Up,” he commands quietly. “Sit up here so I can do this properly.”

Chris comes to his feet, but protests the rest. “Hey, you know, I do actually cook on these counters—”

“Which means you know how to wash them, so _up_.” He kisses at Chris’s jaw. “I want to see your face.”

Chris’s eyes immediately soften, and he hustles the rest of the way out of his (stupidly tight skinny) jeans and hops right up on the counter. “Oh, actually—“ He gestures at the pile of jeans. “You might wanna check the pocket of those before we get any further.”

Karl guffaws. “I thought you said you planned on taking it easy.”

“I said I was _all right_ with taking it easy. I planned to be prepared in case the opposite ended up happening.”

“Cheeky.”

“Prepared!”

And Karl is grateful for Chris’s preparedness, of course, as he slides slick fingers into Chris while Chris tears open the condom with his teeth, but there’s no need to tell him that. He’ll just get all smug, and Karl’s enjoying having the upper hand here, for at least a moment. “Shut up and put up.”

“I think it’s supposed to be shut up _or_ —”

Karl enters him with a heavy thrust.

“—oh _fuck_ I don’t care, Jesus _God_ , Karl.”

“That’s what I thought,” Karl mutters, but he doesn’t really care about the linguistic victory so much at this point. Chris is laid out before him, just taking it _beautifully_ , and Karl is in heaven. Sweaty, man-stinky heaven, and the combination of jet-lag and arousal and beer is possibly making him a little lightheaded, but at that moment, he doesn’t give a toss.

It’s been a while, so Karl occupies himself with exploring the lands for familiarity. The way Chris tries with all his might to keep his eyes open, just in case, not wanting to miss anything. The way he flexes to show off those arms, then realizes he’s doing it and diverts attention; good thing he’s already flushed (Karl notes with pride) or he’d probably be blushing.

And the way he comes so beautifully, with a hitch in his breath, a low groan that sounds suspiciously like Karl’s name, and the most endearingly unattractive look on his face. His body tightens around Karl and Karl’s body lazily complies, a steadying orgasm melting through him like butter.

“Fuck, Karl,” Chris grunts as his own orgasm finishes, his cock spurting happily onto his stomach. “You are the best houseguest I’ve ever had.”

Karl laughs, and leans down on shaky arms to kiss at what he can reach, which ends up being Chris’s collarbone, and ends up causing his shrinking cock to slide out wetly, but he doesn’t care. He buries his nose into Chris’s skin. “You are the best welcome home present in Los Angeles.”

Chris snorts, his hand smoothing mindless patterns across Karl’s shoulders. “Just wait till I whip out the poetry notebook. I’ve done a lot of writing while you were gone, and it’s _awesome_ stuff.”

Karl groans, like he’s pained, but the smile on his face where it’s pressed against Chris’s skin—well, it’s pretty damn huge. And he’s pretty sure Chris can feel it.

\---

When Chris’s phone rings shrilly at oh-dark-forty the next morning, Karl nearly cries. Instead, he rolls over, abandoning the warmth of Chris for the chance to escape the awful noise, and puts the pillow over his head. “Make it stop,” he says into the fabric, and by some miracle Chris hears him and complies, pushing enough buttons on the phone to make the ringing—okay, the awful Kanye West song that passes as ringing for uppity white kids’ phones these days—stop mid-refrain.

Then he hears Chris groan, and laugh, and shortly thereafter feels him curl up against his back, aligning them point to point. He moves the pillow off just enough to talk. “What.”

“It was Quinto.”

“Surprise.”

“He says hello.”

“So polite of him.”

“And he sent you some poetry.”

The pillow falls the rest of the way off. “He what?”

Chris holds up the phone. _There once was a boy named Chris,_ it reads. _Who thought your watch you just might not miss._ “I knew it!” Karl starts, but Chris just tightens his grip, so Karl keeps reading. _So he stole it in turn / in hopes you might learn / that his heart had been yours with a kiss._

Karl reads it twice. Then he feels Chris’s lips, soft against his neck. “You—” Karl clears his throat. “You like the watch?”

Chris’s mouth tilts against Karl’s skin. “You know I do.”

“Good,” Karl says. He throws the pillow beside the bed and maneouvers until Chris is laid out on top of him, skin against skin in a whole new way. Morning breath be damned. “Because I think,” he says as he tangles their legs together and reaches up for a kiss, “it looks good on you, and you should keep it. For as long as you want.”

Chris’s grin lights up the room.

**_fin_ **


End file.
